Thaddeus Young stood on the cold street corner, his hoodie pulled tight over his face. The last time he had been here, in this dangerous part of Brooklyn, he had been in search of his next fix. Even now, after being clean all those years, he could still taste the forbidden taste of cheesesteak on his tongue, and standing in this location only heightened those sensations.
It was unwise to loiter in this neighborhood at this time of night, but Thaddeus couldn’t pull himself away. There were so many memories here, some of them good, some of them bad, but all of them tinted by the addiction that had once consumed him, but consumed him no longer. If his dealer, somehow, appeared right at that moment, Thaddeus wasn’t sure that he would be able to resist the opportunity to score another hit of cheesesteak. There was a nostalgia there for a time of his life that was, yes, destructive to himself and those around him, but also a carefree time.
“Thad! Long time no see!” came a familiar voice from across the street. “I thought you might be back!” When Thaddeus looked to see who was speaking, his heart dropped. It was his old dealer.
It had been a mistake to come back. Thaddeus knew that much. So, instead of waving in greeting at the man who had supplied him with so many good times, he ran. He ran away from that street corner, he ran away from that neighborhood. And then he kept running. Running away from his cheesesteak addiction. Running away from his old life. Running until his legs gave way.
Slumped against a row of townhomes, not knowing or caring where he was, Thaddeus cried.